A Smile For a Statue
by Morning-Tide
Summary: What exactly happened to that anonymous painter who drew a smile on the statue of Seti when he was knocked off his perch during the chariot race scene in "Prince of Egypt"? This short, quick story strives to answer that question! A light-hearted, quick read.


I hate it when my work is interrupted. I hate it even more when I am disturbed and end up drawing a big smile across the statue of our beloved pharaoh. That will never be undone now; the only way to get rid of the azurite-infused smile is to paint his whole face blue. What a way to end the day on a bad note and come home grumpy. At least I will have some beer waiting for me, because I'll need it tonight, once I get down from this thing!

Here I am, swinging like a horse's tail, with nothing to grab on to. Do you realise how scary it is to be fifty feet up, harnessed to nothing more than a long length of rope? Those stupid princes! It's all their fault. If they weren't racing their chariots carelessly over the scaffold, destroying it, maybe I wouldn't go home in such a stormy mood as to rival Set. My stomach twists in my belly, bile rises in my throat as I try not to look down at the specks that are the priests chanting their prayers to Ra.

_I'm going to die, _I think with total conviction, _I will fall and crush my bones. _

I want to scream for help, but my throat and mouth is as dry as the desert—not much help! My heart beats fit to burst out of my chest as I watch the scaffold collapse under the weight of the chariots and the roiling sand.

_So much for help! _I grouse as I watch the princes gallivant off in their nice, shiny chariots.

I want to grab those chariots and smash them to smithereens! It would serve them right for putting me in mortal danger. The priests of Amun-Ra yell in surprise as the cataract of sand swallows them whole.

_Thank you, princes, _I think sarcastically, _now the afterlife will be more crowded than it already is. _

The world begins to spin—and not just from the rope's suspension, so many feet above the ground.

_I think I may resign after today, _I think, _and just paint with my feet firmly on the body of Geb. _

I screw my eyes shut and send a prayer to Amun-Ra, begging him to take me now, and with as little pain as possible. The rope cannot possibly bear my weight for much longer. I will fall past the face of Pharaoh's statue, to fall into the sand, my bones crushed by the long distance fall.

"Looks like you need help!"

I can't look up, but I can mumble, "No, I'm quite fine, thank you." That was sarcastic, for those who didn't take note.

Oh yes, I am getting grumpy—I will forever curse the princes who ruined my king's statue! I will be the one at fault! I can only hope that Anubis understands when I stand before judgement in the Hall of Osiris after death.

Strong hands are pulling on the rope, swinging me straight at the now nose-less face of Seti's statue. I strike out my hands, so I would not slam into the stone.

"We're getting you up here! You'll be right!" shouts the voice from the top of the statue. I knew firm ground waited behind the statue, but would the men let me live it down the rest of my life?

I use my feet and hands to crawl up the face of Seti as the two men above me pull on the rope. I try not to think of how one of my big toes has now struck right in the eye of the statue.

_How very dignified for Pharaoh's statue—a foot in the eye. I bet he's the first king to have had a toe poked in one of the eyes of his many statues. _

"Hey!" shouts one of the men helping me up the statue, "Nice smile! Really becoming of the king!"

I hear laughter from above, and now I can raise my head to glare at the three men pulling on the rope.

"Shut up, will you!" I snap.

"Oh, you _know_ this will be the talk of the construction site for many days!" crows a second man.

The other two guffaw with him. I am not in the mood to join their mirth—and nor do I find this funny.

_You won't be laughing if one day you find yourself in _my_ situation!_

"OW!"

My head has struck the sculpted uraeus—the rearing cobra—on the pharaoh's brow.

"Careful there!" warns the third man, "Don't want you knocking off the uraeus as well! He won't be happy with that!"

"He won't be happy with the smile either!" I retort, using my feet to swing away from the uraeus.

They just chuckle, even whilst gripping my shoulders and back, hauling me over the edge of the Nemes headcloth. The rope tied around the uraeus is slackened, but at least now I am safely on top of the statue. More men crowd around, grinning and cheering.

"I hear you painted a nice smile for Pharaoh!" shouted a man holding a mug of beer.

"The Pharaoh can't keep the smile off his face!"

"He needs to smile more and you show that!"

"I concur!" agrees another, "You ever seen how serious the king is? I don't think he's smiled in his life!"

More laughter, and one of my rescuers thumps me on the shoulder. My knees buckle, and I quickly sit on the ground, aware of my shaking hands.

"Sit down for a moment," a second rescuer says, "that's quite the ordeal you went through, friend. You'll be right after a few minutes."

At least the men have the decency to stand back and allow me some air. I mop off the sweat that had wetted my forehead, and swipe my damp palms on my kilt. My heart and lungs still race as though I had undertaken a sprint from a maddened hippo. Someone pushes a fresh mug of thick, brown beer into my hands.

"Drink up," the colleague urges, "you need it after that."

_You're right I do, _I agree.

I bring the mug to my lips to draw a long drink. My head clears and a sense of calmness now settles over me. Feeling better, I stand up with caution, lest my legs give out again. To my relief, they do not, and already my heart slows down nearer its normal pace.

"Let us all agree," I declare, "that this never happened."

A chorus of chuckles and laughs greet me. Another claps his hand on my shoulder.

"Word will get out before you can say 'Geb'," the man attached to the hand says, "No one will ignore a statue with a smile."

"Very true," another agrees, "a smile for a statue."

"Then do not tell anyone it was me." I order.

More laughs.

"Believe me, tomorrow morning, everyone will know," yet another proclaims.

_They better not. _

"Alright everyone, let's get back to work!" a senior member of our team yells, "lest we all lose our pay for the day and go home without bread!"

A colleague slings an arm around my shoulders, forcing me to walk alongside him.

"You gave a smile to King Seti," he says, "and a beautiful smile it is too. It will stand the test of time, believe me."

_A smile for a statue, _I echo in my own head, _it will stand the test of time. Great. That's just great…_

"Yeah," I mumble, "you may be right."

"I doubt it will pin a smile to our King Seti's lips, but generations will find smiles pinned to their mouths when they look upon this statue. A good start to anyone's morning."

"Good for them," I say with sarcasm.

I don't think he understands irony, as he just grinned and nodded.

"That's the spirit," he encourages, "one day, you will see the smile and smile yourself. Trust me."

I find myself picturing the statue as it would be generations later, when I am long dead. I imagine a gaggle of children passing underneath in the soft glow of morning, only to look up at the face of King Seti with its blue smile. A girl nudges her brother, pointing up and giggling at the statue.

"A smile for a statue!" she giggles, "A smile for a King!"

_Maybe he's right, _I concede at last, _it will be amusement for generations to come…_


End file.
